


Courage is when ....

by Devilc



Category: Tigerland
Genre: DADT Repeal, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That night as they watch the news, Paxton sits back and waits for Bozz to say something, to make a snarky remark along the lines of, “Well, next they’ll be letting women and negroes into the Army.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courage is when ....

**Author's Note:**

> It's not only those currently serving, or who hope to serve that are impacted by the repeal of DADT. Inspired by events recounted in _Conduct Unbecoming_ and _Coming Out Under Fire_.
> 
> The title is from one of my favorite lines in the movie: "Courage is when you're the only guy who knows how shit-scared you really are."
> 
> The opening quote is another.
> 
> X:posted to DADT Repeal Fic @DW
> 
> Legalese: Tigerland is copyright its respective owner(s). This is a work of whatiffery written to celebrate the ending of one of the last great bastions of bigotry and stupidity.

> _My father said the army makes all men one, but you never know which one. He didn't know Roland Bozz_

That night as they watch the news, Paxton sits back and waits for Bozz to say something, to make a snarky remark along the lines of, “Well, next they’ll be letting women and negroes into the Army.”

But for once, Bozz doesn’t have a thing to say. After the clip of President Obama signing the repeal of DADT finishes, Bozz just gets out of his easy chair, snags a Pabst from the fridge, and heads for the porch.

Paxton watches him go and after a moment he just eases his (getting creakier every day) ass out his own easy chair, grabs a Pabst, pops the top, and follows Bozz on to the porch.

Beyond lights and the screen, the night is pitch black and the air is as heavy and sodden as a wet blanket. The crickets chirp like mad and the moths keep smacking into the screen, mad to get at the lights … and the bug zapper that in theory keeps the mosquitos at bay.

And all at once Paxton is back to those nights in Tigerland with Bozz.

Bozz didn’t die in Vietnam like that guy said, and as it turns out, there wasn’t any Mexico or any beautiful woman … aside from a mama-san or two in ‘Nam.

But there was a 2nd Lieutenant in Vietnam, fresh out of ROTC, a boy from a “good” family.

And there was time in the brig.

(“There was a witch hunt and he turned on me.” Bozz never said anything beyond that. Except for, “He killed himself after the court martial when the sentence came down. _They_ turned on him and did him just like they did the rest of us. After all, he wasn’t nothing but a fag.”)

After the brig, a dishonorable discharge for homosexual conduct.

Not that Bozz would’ve ever earned himself anything better than a general discharge, what with his mouth, attitude, and penchant for subversion.

Sometimes, when he’s had a bit to drink, Bozz talks about what happened in Tigerland. He’ll also talk about the things he saw and did during his first 9 months in ‘Nam. Mostly it was humid and dirty, and boring.

Except for that once, he’s got nothing to say about the witch hunt, the arrest, the court marshal, and his imprisonment.

Tigerland couldn’t break Bozz, neither could Vietnam, but Paxton senses that something about _that_ almost did. He shudders to think about what it must have been like.

Paxton studies Bozz as he stares out at the great blackness beyond the silver-grey of the screen.

Theirs is not a touchy feely, hearts and flowers kind of relationship. It was born in the mud, dirt, and blood of Tigerland. It was born less than a decade after Stonewall and the whole concept of gay pride. It all came together 1976 when Paxton tracked Bozz down (and boy was that some serious searching, because Bozz buried himself deep) looked him in the eye, answered, “Yeah, I already know about that” and _still_ kept looking Bozz in the eye.

It’s been the two of them ever since.

Bozz takes a long guzzle of his beer as he turns to face Paxton. “It was a queer as 3 dollar bill medic who got me through the worst parts.” He shakes his head. “I have no idea how he got through basic or medic training --”

“Must have been a good medic,” Paxton says quietly.

Bozz shrugs. “Dunno. I never got to see him in action.” He drains the can, sets it down, and crushes it flat with extra zeal. (You’re really not supposed to do that, the recycling center prefers intact cans, but try telling that to Bozz.) “‘I tol’ you I was a ho-mo-sex-sual, when I joined,’” he says in a sing-song, effeminate voice, but as his eyes flick over to Paxton, he can see the rage -- old, cold rage -- glowing in them. “Guy was black,” Bozz continues. “Some asshole probably figured that he was getting a chance at a two-fer if Shawn died over there.”

Paxton has nothing to say to that. He finishes the last of his Pabst and slowly sinks into a lawn chair. He’s dying for a smoke but he gave that up about five years ago after his first heart attack. He smiles inside as he remembers how he talked Bozz into quitting by betting him he couldn’t.

The silence between them stretches out. The crickets keep chirping and if Paxton strains a bit, he can hear some frogs down by the edge of the fence. The bug zapper pops and hisses when a large moth flies into it.

Paxton figures that Bozz probably has something more he should get off his chest, so he asks, “What happened to him, your friend, the medic?”

Bozz scrubs his face with his hands before answering, “Dunno.” He smiles crookedly. “They tried every trick in the book to mind fuck him, and it was just like pissing in to the wind for all it did.

“Seeing him just -- it rolled off of him like water off a duck. _That’s_ what got me through. That, and I made myself break one rule every day. Usually something small, but that’s what I did just so I knew I was still my own man.” Bozz shakes his head at the memories. “This little skinny black kid who could never pass as straight -- Hell, he’d never even kissed a girl! Never even wanted to -- and if he could get through this without losing his shit, well, then, I could, too.

“He was probably hanging by a thread just like the rest of us, but you never would’ve known that if you saw him strutting his stuff in front of those MPs.”

“Then he must have been a good medic,” Paxton replies, “Seems like he didn’t get rattled under pressure.”

Bozz scrubs a hand through his short, silvery hair. (He always kept it short, even after he got out, even during the 1970s when Paxton let his grow out.) “And still, they just threw him away. Threw him away like they did that big dumb blond kid from Milpitas, that skinny wop radio tech from Brooklyn, the Sergeant who was _this close_ to his twenty, and even that stupid fucking LT.”

He paces the weatherbeaten plywood of the porch (shit, they need to strip and paint it when the season turns and it becomes cooler) and his fists clench and unclench. They’re not a touchy-feely couple, but Paxton reaches out and takes his hand the next time Bozz passes by and presses it to his face.

“Almost fortysomething years now, and I’m _still_ fucking pissed.” Bozz spits the words out.

 _As well you should be_. Paxton thinks as he turns Bozz’s hand over and kisses his palm.

Bozz sucks in a huge breath of that wet, leaden air, holds it for a three beat, then blows it out with such force that Paxton’s half surprised that the screen is still in place. “Part of me is still so damn mad, and part of me is relieved that at last, _at goddamned last_ that particular brand of stupid is finally over.”

“At least officially,” Paxton agrees. He kisses Bozz’s hand again. “And, the Army’s always going to have all other kinds of stupid in it.”

“You said it.” A hand ruffles what’s left of Paxton’s hair, and Bozz glances down at him and that old wicked twinkle is back in his eye. “A black man in the white house. Next thing you know they’ll be letting women and Mexicans in. Maybe even a Jew.”


End file.
